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About Lviv

The movie again, that scene where they’re by the river, all slow and dreamy—I bet if they had sexual-massage back then, Pocahontas and John Smith would’ve been all, “Let’s connect, baby!” But no, they just stared at each other, which, honestly, is less awkward. I’d rather stare awkwardly than have someone rub me down while I’m stressing about my cellulite.

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But then, I hear this commotion outside. I peek out the window on Haharina Street, and there’s a parade! A freakin’ parade! I’m like, “What the heck?!” Turns out, it’s some local festival. People are dancing, music’s blasting, and I’m just standing there in my workshop, covered in sawdust. I can’t help but smile. It’s infectious, ya know?

Home of Benedict XVI’s late brother opens doors to Ukrainian refugees